Firestorm (The Sons of Templar MC Book 2)

By: Anne Malcom

Ian coughed beside me; I was pretty sure he was doing it to cover up his chuckle. I was happy he was on board with my flavor of humor.

Tripp scowled at me. “Can you take anything seriously?”

I glared back at him. “Can you at least pretend you have manners and treat my guest with respect? I’m doing the same with yours, despite her being Satan’s mistress,” I bit out, ignoring Penelope’s fake gasp.

“It’s okay, Amy, I’m sure your brother is just being protective. I understand. I’m Gwen’s brother, Ian.” He held out his hand which Tripp shook.

Penelope was glaring at me. I smirked at her, daring her to come at me. I’d been itching to bitch slap the evil little twat for years. Unfortunately, she was far too image conscious to pounce on me in front of so many well-to-do types. She was more likely to slip arsenic in my martini when I wasn’t looking. I glanced to my brother, whose small manicured hand was still encased in Ian’s large one.

Tripp’s eyes bulged slightly at Ian’s no doubt firm grip and I smirked into my glass.

“If you would excuse us, there is someone I would much rather talk to over there.” I gestured vaguely to the other side of the room, grabbing Ian’s hand.

“Having fun yet?” I asked dryly.

Ian grinned. “I know some battle-hardened soldiers who would prefer to be in a gunfight than this situation.” His voice was teasing.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, soldier boy.”

Two hours, four martinis and some nonexistent canapés later I was feeling pleasantly buzzed. Also supremely horny. Like I almost wanted to jump on Ian and beg him to take me in front of the entire party horny.

Ian and I had been having a ball all night, trying to get the masks of the image conscious attendees to slip at our risqué conversation topics. I was finding it hard to focus on the current conversation I was having with some investment banker. No, wait. Even if I wasn’t struggling with impure thoughts over a sexy but off limits man I would be bored to death at this conversation.

“The way the economy is at the moment, most people are struggling to turn a profit. Not me. It all comes down to instinct.”

I restrained a snort. More like he had Daddy’s checkbook.

“Speaking of instinct, I have a certainty I must take you out for dinner tomorrow night. I own the nicest little Italian restaurant, plus we could take my jet to wine country.” His hand trailed down my arm and I inspected his manicured nails with indifference. He was like a clone of every guy in here. Money, good looks, arrogance, and a certainty that the female race should drop at their feet.


“I’m going to have to go with my instinct and give you a resounding no on that one,” I informed him.

The banker was unruffled, arrogance making him unable to fathom the fact someone was saying no to him. “No one can say no to Italian,” he urged.

“Trust me, it’s not the Italian I’m saying no to.”

“Oh, come on,” he pressed and I was starting to get seriously irritated.

“I believe the lady said no, mate,” a rough voice declared from behind me.

I felt callused hands on my arms gently pulling me out of the banker’s reach.

He glanced at Ian and dismissed him just as quickly, opening his mouth to no doubt spit something patronizing before trying to lure me away with a description of his stock portfolio. Thankfully I was directed away by the same callused hands that brushed my bare back. I tried to ignore the increase in my heartbeat, the flames that burned underneath his hands, the pool of desire settling between my legs, but I couldn’t.

“As much fun as I’ve had tonight watching you shine like a fucking supernova amongst all these idiots, I think it’s time I took you home.” Ian’s mouth brushed my ear as he directed us towards the exit.

My breath hitched at the suggestion. Did he mean what I think he means? Was ‘take me home’ code for sex, or did he just mean escort me back to the apartment I shared with his sister? Ugh, my man whisperer powers have left the building and I seemed to have reverted to an awkward teenager incapable of speech.

“Slugger! Don’t tell me you’re running off so soon! The bar is still fully stocked and nothing’s on fire—that’s not like you.” A booming voice carried over the soft-spoken socialites, who looked over their shoulders in distaste.

I grinned wide. “Uncle Garrett! I thought you were in India,” I reluctantly pulled myself away from Ian to be hauled into my uncle’s embrace.

“Oh, fuck no. I got out of that shithole as soon as I could. Not my idea of a good time—dirty filthy place,” he declared into my hair.

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